


Spanish Psycho

by astraladversary



Category: Capcom - Fandom, Fighting Games, Street Fighter
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble, Gen, introspective, vega has feelings he just doesnt know what they are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-09-30 14:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17225420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraladversary/pseuds/astraladversary
Summary: Vega wore two masks. The first was his familar ivory white which served to protect his face. The second was that face; the idea of beauty that hid his twisted psyche.This will eventually contain Vega/a male oc. This may or may not eventually contain a legitimate storyline. For now it’s a lot of delving into Vega’s mind.Posted also on ff.net and wattpad!!





	1. cerdo feo

Beauty is lost on most men.

He could see it in the out-of-shape businessmen with thinning hair, bleak tastes, and no semblance for aesthetics except for what they wanted in their women. It was hideous. Their severe lack of beauty in what they did. Black market deals – drugs, weapons, the selling of sex... that was what happened when one sacrificed beauty for money and power.

It was nothing like the service to society Vega Antonio de la Cerda provided. To purge the ugliness from this Earth. Why, he should be venerated as a god for his generosity. A visionary, an artist, at the least. He gave another glance to the guests in his home. Not his ancestral home in Barcelon of course. This was his mansion in Madrid, where most of his Shadaloo business was conducted under the guise of polite society.

Of course, he must keep up appearances. Despite his disdain for money and power, there was no use to point out some hypocritical flaw. One in a station such as himself cannot simply disappear. 

These parties do become nauseating sometimes. From crime lords tied to Shadaloo, to the tasteless Spanish nobles, base in their concept of beauty but only present due to the amount of money they had. And all the other types of cattle who sought excitement in depravity. There were a few artists present as well, with their patrons within such families. Their masters liked to parade them and their talent around. And then there were those with no money or talent at all, somehow present by the fluke of having some kind of connection. 

There was a pig in particular he held nothing but contempt for as soon as he laid eyes upon him. A giant brute of a man, with uncombed, thin hair which sat quite hideously upon his cranium, too tall and pointed for the rest of his bloated visage. He could perhaps liken it to the sagittal crest of a primate. Vega watched the man's lecherous gaze through his baggy, beaded eyes, noticeable to Vega even through the man's half-mask. He sounded off such an uncouth voice, painfully unaware of the diminishing interest of the people around him.

Now him... he might not even enjoy killing. It was more of a sense of duty to end this wretch. He wondered why he hadn't already targeted him before... He must be slacking off. He approached the animal with caution, no mirth in the smile he put on when he neared the man and a few of the other guests.

"How do you enjoy the party?" Vega questioned.

Other guests elected to speak before the pig did.

"Food, wine, entertainment... you always knew how to throw a proper party." A man with a boorishly plain suit and bow spoke.

"Indeed. You never fail to impress, Mr. La Cerda. Speaking of entertainment..." A woman who looked much more impressive in her gown and feathered mask added eagerly.

"In due time, my dear." Vega responded with a smirk. "I have something special planned. I would not disappoint my guests."  

The pig stood there discouraged from speaking a single world in response. How pathetic. Vega caught the pig looking at the woman, and then he dared to look at Vega himself, then to the floor. A sullen look of... was it jealousy? Inferiority?

I cannot bear to be in your presence, you ugly creature. You will garner no sympathy from me, Vega thought. 

"What about you, sir? Is there something lacking?" Vega pressed the man, towering over himself but casting no fear in the nobleman. He's taken down such large beasts before. 

"No, no, it's fine. How are you doing, man?" The pig replied. His casual words were meant to mask his anxiety. Vega wanted to sneer. An act of desperation from his prey... The nobles around him could sense such vulnerability as well, almost circling the pig now...The pig did not belong here, try as he may. 

"Regretfully, I'm not convinced." Vega began. "Perhaps you'd like center stage in our little party? I'm more than curious to see how you'll entertain us." 

The pig looked down at him with a squinted gaze, looking all the more deplorable to Vega.

"I don't know how I'll do that." He laughed uneasily. "I know I'm a big loud guy, but-"

"I will pay you, sir. 800,000 Euro to fight me." 

"...Huh?"

Vega had to stifle a disappointed sigh. The nobleman had pride in the way he spoke. Eloquent. Concise. With the right enunciations. So, for the pig to imply he did not catch Vega's words were insult upon insult. Especially since the pig seemed to enjoy the sound of his own squeals. 

"You did not hear me wrong. 800,000 Euro, for us to spar on that very stage." Vega gestured to a platform that was but a white, elevated circle. That was hiscancas. It would become true art later. 

Even ugly pigs bled a brilliant crimson. 

His guests halted in their little chats and turned attention to their host. Surely this was the special entertainment Vega mentioned. Some of them knew of his cagefighting matches in the Mesón De Las Flores, where they dealt in illegal business as they watched The Scarlet Terror punish the fighters fool enough to face him. As such, they knew the outcome of this little show. Vega chose his prey, and he'll give him a magnificent send-off into the afterlife. 

"Well, for that much..." The man's eyes gleamed. Evidently he was tight on money, and could not refuse the offer. "Are you sure? I am bigger than you."

"So you've said." Vega replied, no longer with any airs. Unlike the pig's bloated body, his fat concealing whatever muscle he could have had, Vega was lithe, which was not to say he wasn't muscular. He wasn't bulky, but he was incredibly toned. His shoulders and chest were broad, leading to a quite slim waist. It was fitting for a body sculpted by the gods to tear apart this eyesore.

"Sir, your claw." A blond woman with a square but slender jaw, plump pink lips, and brown almond eyes behind in a pink half-mask presented the steel talons to her employer, in a mahogany box.

"Thank you, Alma." Vega slid the bracer over his left wrist, smiling calmly at his opponent. He knew the pig couldn't back away. All eyes were on them - and the pig was so baselessly banking on his height and weight advantage alone against the slim nobleman. A mistake many have made. "Shall we begin?"

The pig shifted to a clumsy stance, the weight on his feet uneven. When he lumbered forward, his fist moving in, Vega hardly needed to duck all that quickly to land a kick to the pig's shin, causing him to lose his already regrettable balance, stumbling forward.

With great strength and agility, Vega flipped backwards in a great arc, his heel connecting with the pig's lowered chin and sending the creature backwards with a heavy thud. Vega landed on his feet, completing his somersault with a bow, much to the thrill of his guests. 

"Now, now, hold your applause." Vega gently shushed, a finger against his smirking lips. He watched as the man picked himself off the ground, mask hanging halfway and revealing more of his hideous countenance to Vega. He tried to squint through his tiny eyes, nose scrunched and jaw hanging open. The nobleman's smirk immediately dropped. How DARE he look at him like that? Did the pig find his ugliness some kind of joke?! Vega did not wait for his opponent to make a move this time, lunging forward with brilliant force behind his claw, jabbing into the man's chest. The tips of the steel sunk in through his clothes, the pig's skin tearing around the three talons stabbed into him. Vega winded his arm back, claws drawing blood which stained into the pig's shirt. The pig looked at him in shock. As if he could have never imagined this happening to him. As if he accepted the challenge thinking there was no way he could be harmed. Tears welled in his eyes. 

What that earned him, of course, was Vega slashing his claw against his face. No sympathy, he repeated to himself. Crimson flew beautifully before it fell to the stage floor in wonderous splashes. He sliced more. More. More. But never deep enough to really kill him. Not yet. It was just enough to paint the canvas red. If the pig could not be beautiful, his suffering will be. 

A few minutes had passed, and the bloodied body of the pig was left crumpling on the stage, crying and squealing, oh, why him, what a bastard he was, how he begged forgiveness to whatever god was out there that deigned for him to suffer in this way. 

But God listened and turned away from this wretch. And he wiped his claw with a cloth brought to him, before giving a final bow. 

"Magnificent!" A guest cried as they applauded their host. 

"Have you seen anything more spectacular?" 

Laughter ensured at the pig's wails. Vega stepped down from the stage and passed his talons back to Alma in its box. The pig finished his part in this performance piece, and was dragged away. Vega didn't care to see if he'd survive his wounds any longer. He'll simply track him down and kill him later if he left here alive. 

"That was splendid, Mr. Vega. Jackson Pollock couldn't have done any better." An impressed guest congratulated Vega. How depraved of her, and the rest, to pretend to understand the beauty of what he did. But as long as they had some appreciation, it was welcome. 

And, she was so beautiful... 

"Thank you, my dear." Vega purred.. "The party may expire soon. But you are welcome to stay, if you desire." 

Of course she did. 

"I'm honored."

Beauty was lost on most men. But Vega was not like them. And it was no surprise that women wanted his company. 

Why did some women stay with pigs, he did not know.

Walking with the woman out of the ballroom and to his private quarters, he passed a dimly lit hall branching off from the one he traveled down. His eyes gazed off to the darkness for a moment. They caught sight of a portrait. Of himself, of course, but in the shadows, he resembled a face he knew long ago. One that he was reminded of when he looked at a mirror, but one he could never face again. 

Why did his mother marry that ugly pig?


	2. muñeca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vega did not care about empty toys. But sometimes, they catch his interest.

Killer Bee was always a cut above the other dolls.

 

How long has it been since the Psycho Drive was destroyed? Three, four years? It supposedly freed the Dolls from Lord Bison's mind control, didn't it?

 

As much good as that did. The Dolls ultimately never escaped, stashed somewhere in some Shadaloo warehouse when they no longer amused Bison. A pity, that they were so beautiful, but could never be individuals of their own.

 

Try as they may.

 

Killer Bee, or rather 'Cammy' spent the first few years of her new life blissfully unaware that she was a little toy. Unaware of the hands of Shadaloo that created her to be the perfect assassin. Unaware of who exactly her savior was.

 

Well, that last part was something she still didn't know about, Vega supposed.

 

But oh, how she struggled and she suffered. Constantly torn between her past and the present. Vega found her hatred for him in particular amusing. It was unlikely she recalled her life serving under himself, Bison, and the other top enforcers of Shadaloo, so that couldn't be the source of her ire. Perhaps it was due to his allegiance with Shadaloo at all, despite his reputation among the ranks as a creature of whim and unpredictability. Indeed, he did not follow every letter of every command. He sometimes grew bored and even attacked the others of Shadaloo.

 

Just like when he questioned Bison's orders and openly defied him, the same night Bison died for the first time, that base was destroyed, and Cammy was freed.

 

Vega was to kill her before she could have that opportunity. But he hesitated. He knew the girl as one of the Doll guard meant to protect Bison, but he also knew they were mindless puppets. Vega was even asked to assist in their training one or two times, to demonstrate the caliber of agility and deadliness they were meant to have (too bad nobody could be as graceful as he.) Overall, he was hardly concerned with them. What did this particular little doll do to be sentenced to death? She was beautiful, but ultimately worthless. (And among all of this, he wondered why did he care?)

 

It was when Vega asked Bison about the girl did his feelings on her change.

 

To kill the beautiful out of a twisted sense of self-interest is something he would never forgive anyone for. Bison was hideous to begin with, but the assassin had never gone out of his way to defy the dictator before. This was different. Killer Bee made it different. The girl for the first time felt the sense of freedom, just as the most beautiful of creatures deserved to have. And she was to die because of that? Because she might deviate from Bison's wishes? It was always the ugliest of men who tried to control the beautiful.

 

All those nights ago, Vega allowed her to free the other Dolls and confront Bison for herself. When the Psycho Drive was set to destroy itself and the base with it, Vega rescued the unconscious Cammy. It didn't matter who she was, what she was meant to be. She could be reborn. She could even be the one thing close enough to a worthy adversary. It was with this thinking, and when he delivered her to the doors of that thorn in Shadaloo's side, Delta Red, that he became her ghost.

 

Perhaps that, in the end, was what sparked that anger in Cammy when it came to Vega. He was always haunting her. Vexing her at every turn. Knowing so much but giving her so little. And surely the top assassin of Shadaloo would love nothing more than to toy with her then extinguish her life, didn't he?

 

It would pain him, in fact, to hurt her. Because of her beauty, Vega would always reason with himself. He ignored the possibility that it was anything else.

 

Vega traversed the dull halls of the Shadaloo base. It was so bleak to be in such places, but he was one of the Four Kings. And like much of his life, appearances needed to be kept. He had walked out of a meeting with his boorish 'equals', and now wandered the facility with the certain desire to stab something to death out of sheer frustration.

 

He came very close to murdering a lab technician when he walked in, but the scientists were smart enough to see what kind of mood their most unpredictable King was in, and flee. When they cleared the lab, Vega met with the sight of glass chambers. Rows of them, meant to house their test subjects, not unlike the kind that would have housed Killer Bee between her training and missions.

 

"Such ugly displays." Vega sighed to himself. That insufferable second-in-command would stuff the Dolls in these chambers to make them more and more into compliant machines. Would Shadaloo ever have enough with these girls, the blooming stages of their lives taken away from them?

 

Not that Vega cared enough about the girls to free them, of course. Besides... none of them were strong enough for that.

 

"Target acquired," a woman's voice sounded behind him, echoing through the lab. A British accent, soft yet tense, and so familiar. Why was she-

 

Vega turned, not to find Cammy, but instead a pink-haired girl in uniform, standing there with a triumphant grin but soulless eyes. Empty, robotic gazes that he came to hate about the Dolls.

 

"Enero." Vega scowled.The leader of the Dolls could mimic voices, to the point of throwing off anyone trying to listen to Shadaloo's communications. He found it regretful that she fought just like Killer Bee, and decided to replicate her voice to get his attention. Imitation could never be true beauty, no matter how hard you tried.

 

"I had you fooled~!" Enero gleefully teased, hands triumphant on each hip.

 

"Enero," Vega repeated, "It's unwise to try and sneak up on me, my dear."  He spoke to her in Spanish now. It was almost disorienting to see the girl standing before him with emotion and a custom uniform that she must have chosen, when years ago she did nothing but stand at attention and shout declarations, looking and behaving like the rest.  Truth be told, Enero's refined yet headstrong demeanor saved her from Vega's disgust, compared to the other dolls who didn't excel as much as she did in developing their own personalities.

 

As a result, Enero was the only one in Shadaloo Vega could tolerate.

 

"My apologies. I was to give you your assignment, Lord Vega." Enero threw her hand up in a shrug.

 

Vega sneered at this. Sending a Doll, even if it was Enero, to order him? Bison was becoming more and more unbearably ugly. Once, the commander of Shadaloo gave Vega respect for his work. Now in recent times, he dared to send the Dolls on assassinations Vega ought to be carrying out with his superior skill, or appoint that insufferable "number two" as Vega's superior.

 

It couldn't be because of that... disagreement about Killer Bee all those years ago, could it?

 

"Bison can give me my prey himself. Leave me."

 

Enero twirled one of her many thick ringlets around her finger, looking at Vega with no concern for his authority over her. As the one who commanded the rest of the Dolls, she had a bit of a problem with being commanded herself.

 

"Lord Vega, why do you care about Killer Bee? She betrayed us." Enero suddenly asked, arms crossed and dropping all pretenses of regality she usually carried. Now, she looked like a brat.

 

"Don't behave so childishly. I do not 'care' about her." Vega growled. "You would be wise to leave my presence, my dear." He spat out the endearment this time. Why did a toy think she was allowed to press him so? How dare she claim he cared about anyone, especially Cammy? That girl and her ridiculous pursuit of the truth and of justice? There wasn't any justice in the world except for what he inflicted! And why care about the truth when hers was one of pain? Why did she care to be good when it caused nothing but danger and disappointment? Why should he care what she did? Why should he care? He shouldn't, so why did he?

 

"My apologies, Lord Vega." Enero eventually resigned after a bout of silence, leaving the lab and leaving Vega alone.

 

"Enero-" He called out quietly. The word barely escaped him. Perhaps it didn't actually escape him at all, only being said in his mind while his mouth parted in futile silence.

 

Just the same as the answers to those questions he asked himself, year after year.

 

Silent, just as dolls were.


	3. jaula

If there was one thing to dislike about bloodsports, besides the inherent messiness of the whole ordeal, it was that even those with experience tended to die off.

This fact was just now dawning on Taiga, or the Red Dragon, as he practically kicked a man's head clean off his shoulders. The cheers of the crowd surrounding the cage failed to drown out his own thoughts, leaving him to stew in his discontent as the hired goons removed the body from the presence of the towering man. Taiga appeared to be more of a titan out of myth than a man fighting for blood, standing at a height that dwarfed nearly everyone he met. And he had muscle to go with that stature. Hard, impressive mass in his limbs and abdomen, so tightly compressed together that one couldn't help but wait for it to tear through his dark hued skin, adding more scars to his collection. There was no gentleness in his face either. Befitting his profession, Taiga's face was all harsh angles, his cold eyes hidden behind a pair of red glasses stained redder by the blood of the defeated. His neck length hair was of similar coloration, slicked with the same crimson that was dripping from his bruised knuckles.   
I wonder what I should do when I return home..? He pondered silently, his boredom making the excited Spanish declarations of the announcer sound entirely muted to him. There wasn't much challenge in fighting men like this and the adrenaline of a crowd cheering his name had long lost it's appeal to Taiga. His raw strength made more legit venues more of the same. At least this crowd didn't mind the splatter. Even so, the boredom was beginning to eat at his soul. All he could do was hope his next opponent would last longer.

The Red Dragon currently in the pit wasn't the only favorite of the crowd, however. It was true that he dwarfed others in sheer strength and mass, and it was hard to match him in bloodlust. Hard, but not impossible. His next contender, a native to Spain, was a celebrity here in this underground bar.... not that Taiga actually ever had the 'pleasure' of encountering him before.

The "Scarlet Terror" was something on the opposite side of the spectrum when compared to Taiga. The figure stood at 6'2", definitely making him taller than the average man, but putting him as a smaller contender in such 'business' as this. He was more agile and lithe than he was buff, but by no means was he scrawny. Approaching the lights, the crowd began cheering - and drunkenly so. Establishments like these, as if they werent illegal enough, were also places where illicit deals were struck from the seats of the audience, and enough alcohol was passed around to inebriate an elephant. Such was the pleasures of the kinds of people who found the sight of someone killing another entertaining.  
It was an establishment of no refinement, neither outside nor inside. He stared at the titan of a man through the skits of his white mask with utter contempt in his icey blue eyes. Had this been a good day for him, he might be compelled to soak in the excitement, removing his mask for his onlookers. Instead, he felt no need for show. There was only blood to spill now. The three-pronged steel claws glimmering from the vambrace on his hand seemed to cut through the air itself when he brought it in front of him, looking at the reflection of his eyes through them. So striking... it nearly haunted himself.

"Hey buddy." Taiga spoke. "Let's say we call this off. You look like the type of guy who'd rather be sipping wine in a boudoir. A boudoir, right?" Even with that claw, this guy seemed like he'd break in a single punch. He definitely worked out, but his frame was downright sinewy compared to his own. His skin lacked a single mark, unless one counted that violet serpent tattoo spanning his body. He kept his hair long too, gathered in a braid more befitting of a princess than a cage fighter. Although his visage was hidden, Taiga pinned the opponent as a very young man, who had too much time, money, and naïveté for his own good. Even his claw looked too ornate to fit in around here. Taiga was no stranger to blades being brought to a brawl, but it seldom helped the opponents.

This didn't stop the masked man from taking stage and gesturing for the cage to be lowered.

As dismissive as he appeared to be, Taiga slowly prepared himself to take whatever attacks his opponent would deal him. As if he instinctively knew he was on an entirely different level than his previous opponents. Starting off, the masked man had dived himself into a low sweep, aimed for the dragon's legs. Taiga was incredibly strong and quite durable but so very slow as well. 

The only consolation Taiga had after completely failing to move was that his freakish sturdiness kept him on his feet. Still hurt like a bitch, though.

"Shit. Was really banking on you using those pretty knives." Taiga grunted with a grimace, his face tightening with pain as the faintest shadow of a bruise began forming on his leg. Vega's intention wasn't quite to knock Taiga down to begin with, but instead distract him. After the blow connected, Vega flipped from his position, in a backwards somersault. The possibility of his heel connecting with his chest or face would be an added bonus, along with his next plan of descending overhead the man after the peak of his jump, to slash away at the titan from above.

Taiga just barely managed to back away in time, a thin line of red appearing where Vega had grazed him on his chest. When the man had gone airborne, the titan reached up to bring him back down to earth. Taiga seized Vega's wrists just as he began to swing them apart in a slashing motion, and slammed him into the ground.

 

Or so, Taiga hoped.

Vega's wrists were seized just when his hands would have reached the same elevation of Taiga's head. His arms were left immobile in his hold. From then on, it would have been easy for his opponent to toss him away or smash him into the ground, unless Vega reacted with a hold of his own. Using Taiga's own pin on his wrists as leverage, Vega swung the rest of his body so that he was upright, his legs moving to capture Taiga's neck in a hold between them.

For Taiga, however, this was a moment where raw strength triumphed over superior technique. Taiga tightly dug his fingers into Vega's leg and into his side, beginning to pry the leg away from his neck. All the while the giant of a man couldn't help but grin up at Vega. 

"Y'know, most of the guys here don't go for a move that flashy on the first fight." He joked. In the process of Vega's hold being broken, Vega relied on gravity once more as he threw himself back, almost as if he were attempting a frankensteiner, Taiga thought. But it looked like his masked opponent's biggest priority was to just get away. He frowned at this. "I sense a bit of hostility there, pal." Taiga scoffed as he scratched the back of his head. "Just trying to break the ice, y'know? My name's Taiga."

Vega found these attempts deplorable.

How could such ilk not understand that the only thing Vega wanted to do with him was to see him die violently, impaled on his blades? Being sorely disappointed was the most tame way to describe how the masked man was feeling about his competitor. Even as horrendously crude the Red Dragon was, it would have given Vega pleasure to slay the beast.'I'll just kill him now. There needs to be blood on my claws.' He thought. This too could not be realized, however, upon one of the spectators climbing on top of the wall separating the audience from the pit, standing there with a giggle. 

"What bloodlust I sense... It's quite appetizing." She remarked, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. The woman looked on with a face of confidence.

"You figure she's drunk?" Taiga asked off to the side, wondering why a spectator was so bold as to approach the two killers.

Vega still refused to say anything. This woman was beautiful, but he knew that there was cruelty in her eyes. Intoxicated? No. It was she who intoxicated others. 

A sudden swarm of bats enveloped the woman, moving from head to toe and revealing her true form along the way - that of an incredibly beautiful and curvaceous woman with minty green hair, a leather corset, and purple bat-patterned tights. Her transformation came with the drunken wonder of the crowd, though it seemed that they would simply pass out and forget about the supernatural experience. The strange creature flew near them with her bat wings, continuing to stroke her hand through her hair. "But do not worry. Your ends will be as pleasurable for you as it will be for me." She smiled.

She threw back her fists then slung them forward, a ball of energy coming their way, not unlike the ki channeled from those Shotokan karate types that Bison insisted on tracking down... 

This woman was no mere martial artist of course. 

"Get down!" Taiga yelled, tackling Vega to the ground with speed all but impossible for a man of his size, and much unlike the slow speed he displayed before. Once he protected his former opponent, Taiga glared up at the woman and charged towards her with his arms spread wide.

"You deplorable-" Vega had begun to say to the Red Dragon for daring to touch him, when he glanced up and assessed the new attacker once more. Rising to his feet, he watched Taiga charge for the woman, only for her to move into the air again with her wings, landing on the other side of the man, all with a laugh coming from her. 

Vega approached the mysterious woman and gave a bow before her, much more courteous to her than his previous opponent. He didn't know what she was, but blood would serve to be an excellent beauty treatment.

 

"What a sudden gentlemanly exterior." She commented, amused. "But, nevertheless, I'm sure at least one of you will be a delicious snack." Her wings shapeshifted into pointed tendrils, the arrowheads coming for both men simultaneously.

Taiga instinctively reached out, having faced vaguely similar circumstances before. Granted, those had been chains rather than some kind of demon mutant wings but he doubted the idea was much different. Not really thinking about what'd happen if he failed, he grabbed the tendril coming for him. Depending on how slippery the tendrils were, they'd slide through his hand and pierce his arm before he'd make his next move. In that case he was hoping his muscle would keep it from immediately going all the way through. As fast as he could, the titan wrapped the tendril around his arm and pulled with all his strength. 

The masked man, meanwhile, deftly flipped backwards, landing on his feet in complete balance and escaping the range of the tendrils. Evasion was a skilled tactic of his, and he was able to counter with his own long range as well. When Taiga caught the woman's tendril, her smaller frame was reeled in. However, the rest of her limbs were still free, and she had aimed an upward swing of her leg towards Taiga.

Taiga wasn't quite sure how strong this demoness was. Sure, she was pulled towards him quite easily but for all he knew she could have let that happen to catch him off guard. Thus he intended to simply block to try and get a base measurement for her physical power, at least he did until he noticed Vega lunging for her. Although he still considered him an enemy, Taiga considered this monster an even greater one. His free hand shot out and reached for her ankle as it neared him. At the very least, it would give Vega even more time to attack her while she was preoccupied. Vega's claws were able to rip into the skin of the woman's back, but Taiga spotted not a single flinch on the woman's face. If anything, she looked pleased to be caught between the two.

"This is why I love the human world. Mankind can be so crafty... You always see something new. Not like the stagnant and stubborn Makai." She remarked. Her lips further curled into a smile. "As much as I like this threesome, let's see how the two of you deal with this." The succubus flashed in mystic light and seemed to split into two, as a copy of herself appeared behind Taiga and dared to send another ball of energy his way, essentially pinning him down until he were to do something quick about the original already in front of him.

 

"Why do I always meet the crazies?" Taiga growled, tightening his grip on the woman's leg. The titan was of course aware of the fact that, as a cage fighter, he really couldn't complain about the mental states of his opponents. Letting out a surprisingly feral roar, he swung the monster around with all his might, flinging her at the sphere of energy. She was met with genuine surprise upon being knocked back into her own mirage's attack, the two demons (or one) being knocked back across the pit, the pairs merging back into one form. 

 

Vega's eyes roamed across the splatters of her blood finally present on his claws. The sight was inviting, but her blood was... It seemed repulsive. How could that be, coming from such a beautiful vessel?

The masked fighter was not superstitious, but perhaps he couldn't care for that anyway. Gods and devils and their machinations could not trouble him, as long as there was still beauty. He flicked his steel talons, and the blood splashed onto the ground. 

The creature, whatever she was, looked entirely offended.

"Oh, I thought you were a gentleman. You won't enjoy such a fine wine?" She scoffed, slowly rising to her feet and flicking her hand through her locks. Taiga approached in case she tried something new, but she tutted. "No, no, handsome. This was oh-so-amusing to me, but I don't think I should bother... Humans might be more interesting, but they're too uncivilized to know how to treat a lady." 

"I really don't know if you're some kind of performer but, geez, I'm really meeting the rude fighters today." Taiga grunted, rubbing the back of his head again. "What did you do that offended her so much, bud?" He asked, looking at Vega.

Vega didn't know why he bothered explaining. One as crude as he would not understand true beauty. Still, he answered. "Her blood," Vega began, "is too vile for my taste. What use is her beauty when her fighting - her strength, her suffering - could never be exquisite?" 

Taiga was quick to pin him as a nutcase. But he could see what he meant.

While she proved to be fun, what would be the point of fighting someone if they could not provide any sort of release for you? Taiga thought he wanted a fighter who could survive the deadliest of blows, but as powerful as she was, the fight was becoming meaningless because she was just so... bored. As bored as he was. There couldn't be a real spark from this match.

Supernatural or not, she didn't provide either of them what they truly wanted. 

The woman graced a final smile on her features.

"I thought my beauty bested brains and brawn. I seldom meet mortal men who free themselves from my cage. You're both interesting after all." A cloud of bats surrounded her form as she appeared to phase into the ground. "I'll let you go, little pets. Until we meet again..." Her melodic voice echoed.

Their entire surroundings seemed to break apart at the seems, until...

Taiga, the Red Dragon, stood in an typical fight club bar somewhere in America, feeling as if he just jolted awake. In here, he defeated eleven consecutive opponents in a row. It was understandable that he'd get tired, but... how did he doze off right here? He felt like he was just in a damn good fight, but... He was already done. All of his opponents were trying to nurse their wounds, or were carted away. If they were down for the count, and he had no injuries, then he couldn't have been in an interesting match.

He wondered what he should do when he got home.

Meanwhile, in a mansion in Barcelona, Vega awoke among a net of red silk sheets that were tangled around his form that was, regrettably, sweating, from whatever night terrors he must have experienced... but forgotten. He remembered blood, but that was all he remembered these days. Fighting against the ugly, and sometimes the beautiful. But no matter the owner, the blood was always a brilliant, inviting sight. Wasn't it?

He looked down at the red sea surrounding him, and gave a growl.

He felt, somehow, that wasn't the case anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, that was morrigan


End file.
